


Perfect

by organisedchaos



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Stanley Uris Has An Eating Disorder, Stanley Uris-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 23:21:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14199849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/organisedchaos/pseuds/organisedchaos
Summary: Perfect: to make (something) completely free from faults or defects; make as good as possible





	Perfect

Perfect: to make (something) completely free from faults or defects; make as good as possible

Stanley Uris needed things to be perfect. His curly hair had to sit perfectly styled on top of his head, his crisp white shirt had to be tucked perfectly into his freshly pressed jeans, his shoes had to be so perfectly shined you could see your reflection in them, his notebooks were colour coordinated for each class and his notes were written in perfect cursive handwriting. So, when Stan looked at himself in the mirror and found what he saw to be imperfect he knew he had to do something to change it.

beware the read more

It started off small, not getting any snacks when seeing movies at the Aladdin, running extra laps in gym class, ordering water instead of soda – but still every time he looked in the mirror he knew he wasn’t perfect. He’d thought about sharing his thoughts with his friends, but would they really understand?

‘No, they wouldn’t’

He could practically hear the “god Stanley, you’re so vain” so he kept his thoughts to himself and carried on with the plan to make himself perfect. He started skipping breakfast and peddling a few miles around town before school (his parents didn’t mind, he told them he was working on a school project, and they were proud of him for working so hard on keeping up his grades). Avoiding food at lunch was surprising easy as well, the losers normally too preoccupied with Richie’s antics to notice Stan wasn’t really eating his packed lunch (sandwiches cut into perfect squares with no crusts thank you very much), just merely picking at them and putting them in the trash when the bell rang. Dinner was tougher, there were only so many times he could pretend to be having dinner at his friends’ houses. He’d been fasting for almost a week - ‘just think of it as an extended Yom Kippur’ - when he found a way around the dinner issue.

It was Sunday evening and he’d spent the day with Bill at memorial park. He liked spending time alone with Bill, he felt like they were more themselves when it was just the two of them, Bill’s stutter eased a little and Stan felt less tense. They’d spent the day watching birds, Stan telling Bill in hushed whispers facts about the birds they saw - “did you know that black-capped chickadee’s hide their food and can remember thousands of hiding places?” – and Bill listening intently. Stan’s heart always fluttered when he saw that Bill really was paying attention to him, he normally shied away from talking about his favourite animals in front of the group, but when it was just the two of them, and with Bill encouraging him to tell him more, Stan felt like he had all the confidence in the world.

He liked Bill – okay he really liked Bill – he liked how despite his stutter Bill carried himself with a graceful poise, he was the person everyone went to when they needed help, if you were ever in trouble rest assured Big Bill would be there to save the day. Stan was more than a little smitten, but Bill could get any guy (or girl) he wanted, why would he be interested in Stan? It had started to get dark out, the light fading fast on the late November evening, so the boys said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

When Stan got home he was hit immediately with the smell of food and felt his chest tighten. It was Sunday, which meant dinner with his parents and he’d forgotten all about it.

‘Idiot’ he cursed himself.

“Stanley is that you?”

“Yeah mom”

“Perfect timing! Dinners almost ready go and get yourself cleaned up, I hope you’re hungry!” 

He’d already used the I don’t feel well I can’t eat anything excuse on Friday, if he used it again she’d know for sure something was up, she wasn’t as paranoid as Mrs Kaspbrak but she wasn’t stupid either. So, he did as he was told, he washed his hands and face and sat at the table next to his father. His mother smiled as she sat the heaping plate in front of him and he forced a smile back. The only thing worse – if that was possible - than being imperfect was disappointing his mother, so he did what was expected. He forced himself to eat.

He hadn’t meant to eat so much, he really hadn’t. He was just going to have a small amount and then excuse himself, telling his parents he had to finish something for school the next day. That was until he took the first bite and he couldn’t stop, he ate until he felt like he was going to burst and then he ate some more.

“Jeez son, leave some for the rest of us” his father laughed

Stan suddenly felt hot all over as the realisation of what he’d done hit him.

‘You were supposed to be fasting! How can you expect to be perfect if you can’t control yourself!’ the voice in his head was sharp and warning

Stan thanked his mother and excused himself

‘You’re a failure, you’ll never be perfect’

He could feel tears stinging his eyes as he made his way to the bathroom.

‘You’re disgusting’

Stanley looked at himself hard in the mirror

‘Disgusting!’

It was too much, he had to get the food out. Careful to be quiet, Stan leaned over the rim of the toilet, tears rolling down his face and put his fingers in his mouth. The relief was instant, he let himself throw up and felt his stomach empty and with that the nasty voice in his head stopped. He leaned against the bathroom wall and let silent sobs rack his small frame. He didn’t know how long he sat there for – 10, 20, 30 minutes? – but when he composed himself and stood up his body ached. His head felt clearer though, like he was back in control of his own mind. He told himself that he wouldn’t make himself sick again, he didn’t need to do that, but deep down he knew it would be easier said than done.

 

Bill Denbrough was worried. Although if he was honest with himself since Georgie, he was always worried. Not that he let anyone see it, he was Big Bill, he was the brave one, he was the leader. However, over the last few days he had begun to worry more and more about his friend Stan. Bill had always loved watching the other boy, he loved the way Stan moved to a beat only he could hear and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Everyone knew he was enamoured, however much to Bill’s dismay, Stan remained completely oblivious. So, when Bill noticed Stanley discretely disposing of his uneaten lunches and his heart shaped face looking slightly gaunter he began to fret.

At first, he thought Stan was sick, and he’d almost asked Eddie for his opinion (if anyone knew anything about being sick it was Eddie Kaspbrak) but he thought better of it when he saw how hard Stan was working in gym class. He was always a fast runner and had swift reflexes but he seemed to be pushing himself harder than normal. ‘If he was sick why would he be training so hard?’

He decided he was going to bite the bullet and ask him outright. He’d planned it out, he would ask Stan to meet him on Sunday at memorial park to indulge in his favourite hobby and he’d hit him with a straightforward “Stanley are you keeping something from us?” but as soon as Bill saw him standing there, his winter coat wrapped snuggly around him and a bright smile that could thaw the canal on the even the coldest winter day, the plan fell apart. He’d never met anyone like Stan and although he’d never been in love before he knew for sure this is what it felt like. Instead of the confrontation he had planned he spent the day following Stan around the park, listening to him talk about birds like they were the most important thing in the world; Bill supposed to Stan they were, and if they were important to Stan they were important to Bill.

“Do you wanna t-tuh-take a break and grab some lunch?”

The shift in Stan’s body language was subtle but Bill saw it

“Uh you know Bill, my mom made a big breakfast this morning so I’ll pass”

‘He’s lying’ Bill started to fret again ‘why would he lie?’

Bill started to ask Stan if everything was okay when his friend grabbed his hand and looked at him excitedly.

“That’s a Northern Cardinal! I’ve never seen one up close before”

Just seeing Stan’s bright eyes and excited smile made Bill melt and the thoughts that plagued his mind vanished. It wasn’t until he crawled into bed that night he realised he still didn’t know what was wrong with Stanley and when he woke up in a cold sweat after a too vivid dream about Georgie and Stanley and IT he was determined to find out the truth.

Stan had gotten into a routine. He’d have fruit for breakfast (cut into small pieces to trick his body into thinking he was eating more), cycle to school, attend his morning classes, have lunch with the losers, throw up in the bathroom, attend his afternoon classes, cycle home, have dinner with his parents, throw up again, go to bed, wake up and repeat. It had become so normal he’d almost forgotten what it was like before. His friends were starting to notice the change in his behaviour now, Bill would ask him daily: “Stan are you okay?”

He was running out of excuses and his body was betraying him. His eyes were rimmed with black circles, his once thick hair had started to fall out and his ribs and collar bones stuck out unnaturally. He looked at himself in the mirror religiously, wanting – needing – to see somebody else, somebody perfect staring back at him, but he didn’t, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to confide in someone, Beverly? His mother? Bill? But he couldn’t, he felt a burning shame whenever he thought about what he had been doing to himself and he couldn’t handle the thought of letting the people he cared about the most down.

It had been three weeks since he had taken Stan birdwatching and Bill had now gone from worried to straight up terrified, and it wasn’t just him that noticed, the other losers were concerned as well. Stan barely spoke anymore and looked constantly tired. Bill didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what was wrong. Stan always played it off like he just hadn’t been sleeping or that he had a cold but Bill knew better.

“Where’s he going?” Ben asked after Stan had left their lunch table early again

“He t-told me he likes to be alone b-before he goes to back to c-c-class”

Ben looked sceptical but didn’t push the subject, they both knew there was something else going on. Bill excused himself and set after Stan. The corridors were quiet, everyone either still in the cafeteria or playing in the fresh snow outside so he made sure to keep far enough behind that Stan wouldn’t notice him. He followed him to the bathroom and waited outside, but when 10 minutes passed and still no sign of Stan, Bill decided to go in. The door to one of the cubicles was locked and he could hear muffled noises. It sounded like… gagging?

“Stan?” he walked further into the bathroom and knocked on the cubical door “Stan are you in there?”

The toilet flushed and Stan unlocked the door, he stood there with his his normally immaculate shirt wrinkled and wet with tears looking vulnerable and scared, and Bill’s heart broke. Stan broke down in front of him, silent tears turned into full on sobs, Bill took the other boy in his arms and rubbed gentle circles on his back, feeling his jagged spine as he did so. He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner, how could he have been so stupid?

Once Stan had composed himself the boys decided to skip the rest of their classes. Bill took Stan back to his house as his parents were at work and they spent the afternoon in his room talking. Stan getting everything of his chest and Bill quietly hating himself for not doing something sooner. Stan looked exhausted when he finished talking, his bony shoulders shuddering at he breathed. Bill found himself speechless, he had no idea what to say, how he could comfort someone who had been through so much? He got up from the floor and lay on the bed next to the smaller boy, he felt Stan flinch a little when he put his hand in his curls but didn’t move away. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, Bill running his hand through Stan’s hair listening to his breathing slowly calm when Bill finally found his words.

“Imperfections are what make us who we are Stan, you wouldn’t be you without them. I wouldn’t change one thing about you for the world and although you may not love those little things, I do.”

Stan was on his back now staring up at Bill with soft eyes still a little red from crying. It happened before he even realised, Bill leaned down and placed a small gentle kiss on Stan’s lips. It wasn’t how either of them imagined their first kiss, it wasn’t like it happened in the movies, no fireworks or classic clichés but it was theirs and it was perfect.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, Bill resting his chin on Stanley’s head, listening to his gentle breathing. Stan felt the knot that had been in his stomach for weeks finally ease, he felt safe with Bill and the last thought that crossed his mind before falling into a sleep that he had been aching for was that with Bill’s help he maybe could finally accept himself, imperfections and all.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Eating disorder (Bulimia specifically), also poor Stan I just really want to give him a hug after writing this  
> i appreciate all feedback! im sunshinestanley on tumblr if you wanna say hi!!


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